


I'm endlessly caving in and turning inside out

by Mikaeru



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale can have a little sadism. As a treat, Blindfolds, Choking, Crowley is a Mess (Good Omens), Dom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Forced Orgasm, Gags, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sub Crowley (Good Omens), Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:55:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23375026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mikaeru/pseuds/Mikaeru
Summary: "Is my poor love already tired?" he mocked, voice full of sour honey, "Whatever should I do? Why, I should keep doing, my love needs to build his endurance up."Just one of those fanfics with a poetic title and absolutely wild tags.It's what it says on the tin kids. Ciao.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 128





	I'm endlessly caving in and turning inside out

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this week's M2, an image prompt with a crying man.

"Open your legs."

Crowley, gagged and blindfolded (but not tied up, as it was his duty to restrain himself, and he was trying, he was trying really hard, was his angel going to notice that?), was trembling and aching, and he welcomed his angel's command with a singing heart. He arched his back as he parted his thighs. Aziraphale's hand was colder than his voice when he pressed Crowley down into the mattress with a broad palm on his chest. _Touch me again_ , Crowley wanted to plead, _touch me so I won't burn_.

"I just said to open your legs. You should know you are to do only what I say, nothing less and nothing more."

Crowley whined, desperately wanting to grind against him. He restrained his hips from bucking with a strenuous effort. He gasped as Aziraphale slapped him across his face, the sting ringing in his ears.

"I didn't tell you to whine either. Are you doing this on purpose, darling?" Aziraphale lowered his voice and his head, his breath on Crowley's cheek, sending solid chills down his spine, goosebumps rippling all over his skin. His hands were gripping the tender flesh of Crowley's inner thighs, blunt nails digging into it. Crowley suddenly wished for claws, for marks, for tears in his (im)mortal flesh. "Yes, I think you are, because you're such a glutton for punishment, aren't you, my boy?"

Crowley couldn't see him, but he could picture him by memory, and it was such a soothing thought - his hair almost white styled in perfect curls, as he liked to present himself impeccable, spotless, during their most intense scenes (a stark contrast with the body beneath him, stripped naked down to his writhing soul), his fair skin, soft and plump and perfect for kissing, the calm blue light around his body marbled with thunders, a peaceful storm, full of promises.

He could hear his husband's soft footsteps around the bed; Aziraphale wanted to take a good look at him, admire how tense he was. Crowley's body was on fire with longing, with a yearning he hadn't felt in years; there were invisible fingerprints in every place Aziraphale had ever touched him, and each and every one of them was thumping, beating, full of hunger. Aziraphale was circling him like a starving lion. When he stopped, Crowley jolted, moving his head around. He knew Aziraphale didn't leave the room, but he wasn't moving, wasn't even breathing. He felt raw, caught at the beginning of an earthquake. The air was leaving cold kisses over his chest, gleaming with sweat.

(he woke up with open kisses on the nape of his neck. Aziraphale was behind him, slightly rubbing his hardness against the cleft of his arse.

"Good mornin, angel," he yawned, words sticking to one another. Aziraphale's hands were slithering under his shirt, a flimsy thing Crowley kept just for sleeping with his angel when he felt particularly cuddly - and wasn't his angel cuddly now? So it did the trick.

"It's five p.m., love," Aziraphale murmured, gently biting the shell of his ear. "I let you nap for a while."

"Did I missss somethin' 'mportant?"

"No, you didn't," he started to lick his neck, sucking a bit, "but I did miss you so, darling. I touched myself, earlier, thinking about your legs on my shoulders."

"Did you?", Crowley smirked, "And what else did you think about?" he asked lazily, almost purring. Aziraphale's fingers were twisting his nipples, making him arch, moan. How sensitive his corporation was, tuned with Aziraphale's. How much he loved having a body that could give them such pleasure.

"Your beautiful arse" he growled, teeth scraping over his neck, "how prettily it bruises when I bite it. How lovely you are with tears streaming down your cheeks."

"Oh," Crowley gasped, softy, as one hand sneaked in his pants. It was one of _those_ days. "and what else?"

Aziraphale's fingers trailed the line of his cock, without actually touching it. Crowley was growing frustrated every second, but nevertheless loving it, as his husband's mood was already affecting him. He moved his hips, looking for friction, but to no avail.

"What a curious little thing I have in my hands. Would you prefer an essay or an actual demonstration?"

"But, angel, you're so good with words..."

He tried to turn around, but Aziraphale didn't allow him to. He bit his shoulder, the sharp profile of the bone underneath the skin. "You're being a brat."

"Demon. Comes with the territory."

"Oh, that's lovely." Aziraphale pulled his hair. "I am in the exact mood to smite some devil deeds.")

"You're too pale." The voice was coming from between his legs; how couldn't he have heard him moving on the bed, nor felt his weight? "You could use some red, some purple. Are you ready for that? Oh, well, I always forget that you're ready when I say you are."

 _Yes, yes, yes_ , his heart cried. How cold his angel was, how detached, as if they didn't know each other, as if Crowley was just a plaything, a useless little beast. _On your belly you shall go, and you shall eat dust all the days of your life_. He bit down the gag; his jaw was aching, his chin and neck wet, his sex throbbing. He was a mess, a crumble of limbs and lust, utterly ruined.

Aziraphale produced something out of thin air. Crowley already knew it was a snake whip, the one Aziraphale immediately grew fond of the first time they used it, deeply in love with the thin, crimson marks on Crowley's buttocks and upper thighs.

"Keep your legs up, show me how prettily you obey. Quickly, if you please."

Trembling, Crowley hooked his arms behind his knees, putting them up. Aziraphale had miracled his gag out before the first slap, and Crowley's scream echoed in the room, filling the air. Each one of Aziraphale's blows were precise and merciless, as the angel had spent quite a time learning about the ancient art of whipping subs. He always waited until the pain had dulled a little to hit the same spot again, so Crowley couldn't ever respite because he knew that the slightest relief in a sting could only mean that Aziraphale wasn't thorough yet. A heavy sob coughed out his lungs, as he started shaking. Aziraphale tutted, grazing his hip.

"Is my poor love already tired?" he mocked, voice full of sour honey, "Whatever should I do? Why, I should keep doing, my love needs to build his endurance up."

Tears were starting to drench the blindfold, the pillow under him, and he started begging. "Please, please, stop, please...", he whimpered, knowing perfectly well what that tone did to Aziraphale. He could see him even now, eyes flickering and full of something liquid, something wild and unchained.

"Oh my, a wily demon imploring for mercy! This is so unbecoming of you, Crowley. I rather think I'll add ten licks more, see if this gives you a little more dignity."

 _Yes, yes, yes_. His will taken away from him, all the decisions, his well-being all in Aziraphale's hands. He felt blessed for a moment, then Aziraphale struck again too near his cock, and the sobs were trembling through his body, skinning him.

"Yes, darling, cry a little more for me, there's a good boy, weeping so beautifully for his husband..." a blow, a blow and another blow, until Crowley shouted so loudly his throat started itching. Everything was overwhelming, he was a victim of the tides, a shipwreck. Suddenly Aziraphale stopped, and Crowley lifted his head up, too used to look at him. Aziraphale grazed his cock with the tip of the whip's handle, then dragged him between his cheeks. He didn't push it inside, but threatened to, moving over the crack of the buttocks. Crowley sharply inhaled when it went too close.

"Is my love afraid?", Aziraphale asked, moving the handle up and down, "Doesn't my love always want to try new things? Even if this handle is thinner than my cock, it should be enough for him."

"Don't, please, please, don't...", he begged. His eyes were burning from all the crying, and Aziraphale reached for his face, kissed his eyes over the soaked blindfold.

"Oh, well, since you asked so politely, maybe I'll be gracious enough to not do it this time."

"Thank you, angel...", he sighed, bones full of relief. But Aziraphale wasn't finished yet.

He started to force biting kisses on him, kisses full of thorns - ears, cheeks, neck, nipples, stomach, then he licked a long stripe from his collarbones to his groin, but barely touched his cock with just a panted breath.

"I think I should punish your cock too." He grazed the tip, nails lightly scratching the sensitive skin. "But I'm bored with the whip." He discarded it; it landed on the floor with an almost imperceptible sound. "I think my love has already had his fair share today, didn't he?"

Crowley whined once again, because that question mark seemed too much like something he should answer to, and he didn't want to. But Aziraphale knew that, and he said: "Yes, I think it's enough. Time to play something else."

He forced his thumb into Crowley's mouth, stretching it, ignoring how sore it already was from before. "How open you are for me, darling, how vulnerable and frail, how easily I could break you apart, eat you up, suck everything until there's nothing left of you but the dust of your bones..."

His bones, still intact, were trembling like stars in the morning. "Please, please...", he managed to say around the finger, words slurred, as if he had forgotten all the words in the world but that one and a few more. "Angel, please..."

"Please what, dove?" A kiss on the lips, a chaste one, too tender for him to bear. He hiccuped. "Would you like to be eaten? To be torn apart?" He caressed Crowley's cheek with his wet finger. "Oh, you'd accept that if I wanted you to, don't you, my darling? So pretty, so obedient."

"Please -" he said once again when he wanted to say _Yes, yes, yes, everything for you, I would offer myself at your altar, I would burn myself trying to drink your light. Use me, have me completely, leave me with no more than a beating stomach and an eye to look at you_. Aziraphale's hands stroked the prominent bones of his hips.

"Aren't you a picture? All these violent colours, the deepest and brightest. "

Index and ring finger walking on the smooth plane of his chest, Aziraphale reached his neck and started to squeeze, trying it out a few times, every one longer than the other. "We haven't tried this yet, have we? I'd like to see you blue, gasping for air, and I think you're not against it one bit."

"Please, please -"

Aziraphale dragged him at the end of the bed, letting his legs dangle. He tightened his grip around Crowley's neck. "Can you come like this? Just," a ghost touch on his cock, fingers around its length just for a moment, a sharp second, a bee's sting, "like this," he pressed a finger against his hole, sparks raining on Crowley's tongue like drops of holy water, "like this. Can you, dove?"

"Please, please," Crowley's voice was rusty, copper coloured and heavy with water, "touch me angel please -", Crowley dragged the s's a little, feeling slightly more feral every second. Aziraphale, clicking his tongue, took pity, and slid two fingers inside him while bruising his neck, feeling his pulse under the palm of his hand, his heartbeat spiking up. Letters without correlation with each other were tumbling out Crowley's open mouth, as his orgasm exploded from within his stomach, roaring from his thighs. His body started floating, weightless, and all the shouting stopped ringing around him.

"Splendid, love. Can you give me another one? Oh, yes you can, my precious, and you will."

Ignoring his protests, Aziraphale started masturbating him and added one finger inside. Crowley was so sensitive and worn out that he started crying again, sobbing freely – blessed, loved, maybe finally deserving. The second orgasm took him by surprise when it arrived so shortly after the first, shaking him even more, making him inhumanly arch his back. He suddenly felt the urge to see his angel, and tried to express it, but words were too hard, he hadn't any between his teeth. He whined once again, and Aziraphale understood him as usual. (how lucky he was. How fucking lucky they both were.)

Aziraphale took his blindfold off, slowly started kissing him on the cheeks, on the nose, on the forehead. "You did so well, my love. I'm so proud of you."

He clung to Aziraphale, his throat too tight to speak; he tried to kiss him, but suddenly felt so overwhelmed by the mere thought that he started crying again. He hiccuped.

“Ssh, ssh, let it go all out, darling,” Aziraphale cooed, petting his hair. "You're wonderful, so beautiful and perfect and mine, my own."

He hiccuped again. His eyes were too wet, too heavy, his vision too blurry, nevertheless he tried to look at Aziraphale, the peace he was radiating like a new sun. With utmost care, Aziraphale turned him on his back, started to delicately rub lotion onto his welts. It smelt of mint. Crowley sighed, head on the pillow. He clawed it when Aziraphale touched the angriest stripes.

"Sorry, dove."

"s' a'right...", Crowley slurred. He felt drowsy, but he didn't want to sleep. Impact play scenes always involved the most wonderful aftercare and cuddles, and he couldn't miss them for the world. Snapping his fingers, a coffee appeared on the night stand. He gulped it down without burning his tongue just because he imagined so.

"Oh, darling, you know coffee isn't good for you after -"

"Sugar. Lots of sugar. Starbucks," he replied, waiting for the glycaemic kick, "s' a caramel latte. Oh, sorry." He snapped his fingers again, and Aziraphale found frappuccino in his hands. "Fo' ya. From Tokyo. s' a - something strawberry something."

"Thank you, dove," he smiled against his temple, starting to massage his shoulders. Relief washed over him. He was all right, he was safe. _On your belly you shall go and an angel shall make you walk again_. Aziraphale peppered his shoulders and back with kisses that tasted like sugar. He sighed again, content and full of sun.


End file.
